


private workstation

by hyphae



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, PWP, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyphae/pseuds/hyphae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a long day at work and Megatron and Soundwave are taking a break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	private workstation

Megatron leans in close and so gently presses his battle scarred lips to Soundwave's visor, soft static charge transferring between them at the touch. Soundwave's display undulates in ripples of warm colour radiating from the point of contact. He reaches up with thin servos and softly traces the sharp angry points of grey metal of Megatron's helm, and Megatron's strong hands caress down his midsection, over the plates where Laserbeak docks. Soundwave leans into the pressure, arches into it. 

Megatron maneuvers them both smoothly so that Soundwave is pinned between him and the control terminal and he feels Soundwave quiver with anticipation beneath him, hands clutching against his back plating. He dips his head down to nip at Soundwave's chassis while his hands explore lower, over his hips and the curve of his thighs, all the while listening to the quickening of Soundwave's ventilations. He slides one hand across the sensitive mesh of Soundwave's inner thigh while the other one palms firmly against his interface panel, the plating already warm and growing hot. Soundwave's thin fingers scrabble clumsily against the back of his head for purchase, his cooling fans hitching. Megatron presses an open mouthed kiss against his panel and Soundwave trembles and slides open, his spike pressurizing and valve slick with lubricant. 

Megatron kisses him there, lips moving against the folds of his valve, and Soundwave throws his head back, one hand pressed trembling against his visor as sounds come unbidden from his vocalizer in tinny, distortion-laden moans, and his other hand braces himself against the terminal beneath. Megatron hikes Soundwave's legs onto the space between his head and shoulder guards for a better angle before dragging his tongue along the length of Soundwave's valve and Soundwave gasps and shudders. He traces the underside of Soundwave's spike with his tongue before taking the tip of his spike into his mouth. Soundwave can't do anything but moan and clutch against the inputs of the terminal, throwing a line of nonsensical commands onto the display behind his head. Megatron moves down taking all of him into his mouth and the warmth and pressure of him drives all coherent thought from Soundwave's mind, the charge building maddeningly inside his circuits, and when Megatron starts to move up and down on his spike and inserts a clawed finger into his slick valve and curves up just slightly, in just the right way, Soundwave writhes against the angle, desperate sounds coming from his vocalizer, his entire body trembling as he comes. 

His moans come quieter, more breathily, as Megatron sucks against him and rides him through his aftershocks. Megatron dips down and laps the lubricant from his valve as it spasms through the aftermath of his overload, and Soundwave lifts his head hazily and looks down his midsection and immortalizes the image in his private records of his Lord, looking back up at him with a smirk, red optics hazy with lust and intake open slightly, panting, chin stained with his lubricant and transfluid. 

He slides off the terminal input board and Megatron catches his hips in his hands, leaving their faces level, and Soundwave slides his visor up just enough to envelop his Lord's lips in a kiss, tasting himself on him, tongue darting out and pushing lightly against Megatron's. Megatron kisses back hungrily for his part, relishing the rare gift. Soundwave pulls back with a tinny sigh, and his visor hisses as it slides back into place smoothly, words flashing mischievously upon its surface: MY TURN.

The first time a nonsensical string of data inputs had flashed across the high command channel of every decepticon on the Nemesis, there had been some small widespread confusion; by this time, the vehicons knew well enough to just shrug and get on with their duties.


End file.
